99 Red Balloons

As with a few of my pieces recently this is a work in progress, something I think is both worth sharing now but also worth developing. Your thoughts appreciated. 
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It was a smuggler's night and no mistake. High, dark clouds hung over the city, there were patches of clear sky but there was no moon to give the game away. The river looked treacle black and the buildings that towered over it were shadows of their former selves. A light breeze ruffled my hair as I stood high above the town staring into the blackness, the tip of my cigarette providing the only light. It was eerily quiet, countryside quiet, not city quiet. one or two cars travelled along the city streets but otherwise the roads were deserted. It was 3 a.m. and the city was mostly tucked up in bed.
Something on the river caught my eye, movement, a flash of something. I blinked and refocused, stared, trying to notice it again. No,my mind must be playing tricks on me there was nothing to see. I took a lungful of smoke, there it was again, maybe a swan or a duck or a leaping salmon. No it was bigger than that and more than one. It was like seeing a fish in the water from the harbour walls, one becomes clear, then two, three, four before suddenly the whole shoal is visible. Now I could see the river was dotted with kayaks, black kayaks paddled by figures dressed in black, moving in unison like a swarm of ants. In the distance I could hear a syncopated beat, the sound of helicopters approaching, I looked around and saw dots of light growing bigger across the sky, illuminating the cityscape. The kayaks were like moths to the light, moving towards the illuminations. The kayaks evolved into upright forms, men moving ashore, swarming the banks, invisible to the casual observer but clear to my eyes.
So it had begun, we'd been warned, told it would happen but no one quite believed it could, quite believed it would. Like losing your virginity or your team winning the cup, you knew invasion was a possibility but you never thought you'd live to see the day. In a way it was a coward's invasion, sneaking in when everyone was sleeping, but better a velvet transition than a bloody, brutal conflict. I stubbed out my cigarette and went back into my flat. Life would never be the same again, the clock could not be turned back. Even if the intruders were beaten back the damage was done. Who knew what tomorrow would bring? And tomorrow was just the start of it. As I tried to sleep I had the lines from a long lost song in my mind, panic bells, it’s red alert there's something here from somewhere else, the war machine springs to life, opens up one eager eye.